


And On This Day

by orphan_account



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In 2002, there were 197 aviation accidents.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	And On This Day

“Josh.”

Josh is very busy trying to remember what to pack for the debate and coming up with ten words to describe Bartlet’s position on the military. God, Sam’s always been better at this stuff than he is, except that he’s currently on a plane, probably writing something or doing a crossword or sudoku, because Sam Seaborn's brain is incapable of turning off.

“Donna, does exaggeration fall into the category of lies or stretching the truth? Never mind, don’t answer that, it -”

“Josh -”

“- doesn’t matter because the president doesn’t need another shitstorm right after the -”

_ “Josh!  _ ”

“- MS thing. If I see Babish again, it’ll be too soon.  _ What, _ Donna?”

He looks up, expecting Donna to have her hands on her hips, her face set in that way it always is when Josh’s forgotten something or other. Instead, her eyes are shining, and she’s got her arms wrapped around herself in a hug. Her lips are trembling. 

Josh can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Donna in tears. The last time had been after Rosslyn, a tube in his throat, with Sam holding one of his hands and Donna holding the other. 

“You have to see something,” she says, and her voice shakes.

They go to the bullpen, where all the staff is huddled up together instead of swarming around like insects. Bonnie and Ginger are holding onto each other and there’s a younger speechwriter that Josh recognizes who’s wiping his eyes.

“What -” he goes to ask Donna, but she pulls his arm and they make their way to the front. 

There’s a TV they’re all looking at, and Josh looks up at it. There’s something smoking on screen, footage of something on fire. It’s raining; the reporter on screen is wearing a powder-blue raincoat.

_ “Coverage on the scene suggests that this accident was caused by engine failure as a result of weather conditions,”  _ she’s saying, and then the scene switches back to the main news desk. It’s ABC. 

“We are still getting information about this incident. The airline has not provided a comment and," the anchor stops, taps his ear. “I’m sorry - we have just received word that there are no survivors of United Airlines Flight 783. The flight encountered harsh weather en route to San Diego, California from Washington DC -”

San Diego. 

_ Sam.  _

It’s at that moment that Josh’s entire stomach drops out, and his throat seizes up.

“No,” he says, maybe. It doesn't sound like a word at all. “ _ No,  _ it can’t be - it -” Josh’s voice breaks, and it’s hanging on something horrible. The entirety of the situation seeps into his brain like poison, and the thought of Sam, Sam who’d he’d seen just this morning, who’d he’d wished a safe flight, fuck -

The thought makes him want to throw up. Or pummel something. Or maybe just fall apart, right here, damn the consequences. 

Donna’s shoulders are shaking, and she’s got one hand braced on her face. She is not looking at the screen. There’s somebody crying. Bonnie’s dropped into her chair, head in her hands. Someone else makes an aborted noise, and it sounds like a sob. It sounds like Josh. 

He can’t look away from the TV when the coverage flicks back on the screen, the fire dying with the rain. 

Toby catches them in the hallway when Donna finally drags Josh away from the screen, hyperventilating, hands shaking. His eyes are trained on a legal pad, and he’s saying, “You know, if we can’t get something soon, we’ll have to -” 

Toby looks up, and his face shifts to something resembling concern. Any other day, Josh would have made a crack about him going soft. Any other day, Sam would have responded with something, his eyes laughing - and -

Josh bites his tongue, hard, forces his hands to stop curling into fists. Donna’s grip is gentle on his shoulders. 

“What?” Toby says, eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? 

It’s at that point that Donna starts crying, hand against her mouth, and it’s not just silent tears.

Josh can’t even say anything, so when he lets Donna soak his shoulder in tears in full view of everyone and everything, Toby looks at his face and figures out everything except who. He knows what death looks like on people’s faces - like a specter, or some kind of fucked up sign.

“It could be a different flight,” Josh says, because he’s been cycling through the stages of grief like a merry go round and gotten stuck on the first one. “I mean, we don’t even know for sure. Right?” 

They’re all in Leo’s office. Donna had gone back to the bullpen to talk to Cathy, and CJ had already been there when Josh and Toby had come. 

Her face is held tight now, strained against her cheekbones, and her eyes are red. Her elbows are braced against her kneecaps, feet pointed inward. 

“I got a call from the Wilde campaign earlier,” Leo says. “Sam never showed up to meet them.” He’s sat down at the front of his desk, staring straight ahead. Leo doesn’t let things get to him - that’s why he’s Bartlet’s right hand man, but knowing said man since you were ten years old gives you a couple of pointers. Josh sees everything in the lines of his face, the way each word comes out slow and careful, as if anything more will break them apart. 

“Oh god,” CJ says. “Oh god, I have a briefing at four.”

Josh, for a moment, is irrationally, terribly angry at CJ for that, before her face crumples and tears leak from her eyes. Then it all dissolves into an abject, terrible void in his gut. 

Toby’s been quiet the whole time, but the legal pad he’s been holding is crumpled where his knuckles are white. 

“The President’s with Charlie,” Leo says to the question lingering in the air. “We - I should meet with him in the Oval Office as soon as I can.”

“We have to call Ritchie’s people,” Josh blurts out. “We have to cancel the debate.”

“Josh,” Leo starts, and damn it, Josh would do anything for him, but not this. The idea of doing anything else makes his insides curl and his eyes sting. He’s ready to argue, but Toby beats him to it.

“Yes, Leo,” he says. “We’re going to be focusing on cutting words and debate prep instead of the fact that my deputy’s dead and nobody has any clue except us and whoever’s watching TV in the bullpen right now!” 

His voice gets louder at each word, and by the end, he’s breathing heavily, shoulders heaving. 

“Toby,” CJ says, voice soft. “Toby. I'll call, ok? I’ve got them in my address book somewhere.”

She gets up from her space on the couch and slips an arm over Toby’s shoulders. They fit. Like he and Sam would fit, whether it was in one of their offices, yelling at a game (or each other), or in a hotel room on the campaign, five cans of Red Bull between them. Josh refuses to think about that _ ,  _ about the way Sam’s eyebrows pinch together as he scratches out a line from a speech, or the way his face goes soft when he tries to get Josh to go home and get some sleep, eyes. 

Past tense, he thinks, and his nails bite into his palms. 


End file.
